


Coming Home To You

by EasyTiga



Series: Wincest/J2 One shots [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Hesitant Dean Winchester, M/M, Pining, Sam and Dean are soulmates, Stanford Era (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyTiga/pseuds/EasyTiga
Summary: It had been on hold since that day. That day he can't think about without his heart squeezing tightly in his chest. That day that he lost everything. Because everything, to him, was that one person, that one thing, that one entity, that one glimmering flash of hope that he wouldn't end up alone some day.And he let him walk out that door. He stood there, terrified to stop it, to speak out, to get in the way of the grand master plan because he selfishly wanted him by his side through all of it, and he didn't have the balls to tell their Dad, his Sergeant Major, that he wanted to go with him.Dean had felt as though he were watching from miles away, unable to prevent the raised voices, the angry snarls, the words that felt wrong—so unbelievably wrong coming out of their mouths. He was powerless, trapped. He couldn't say what he wanted, so he tried to placate. When that didn't work, he felt worse still. He wasn't processing, mouth on autopilot while he worked on putting up his walls, keeping his emotions in check, not showing how he really, truly felt.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Wincest/J2 One shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686691
Comments: 12
Kudos: 125





	Coming Home To You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my headcanon for Dean doing a lot of second-guessing while waiting outside Sam's dorm for hours. I had similar thoughts to this before the finale (which was amazing), and I feel very vindicated because of it. 
> 
> Anyway, this is my retrospective on it, and I had a lot of fun writing it, though it pained me to think about Dean feeling like he was nothing without his brother. T^T
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like it. :D

The 67 Chevy Impala pulled to a stop, her motor running. Dean sat there, one hand on the steering wheel, the other sweeping down his face, fingers flirting with his lips, nails scraping non-existent itches in search of a way to ease the growing tension.

He hadn't fully decided if it was the right move, seeing him. Thinking about his face made his heart race, come to life, as it always did. It was the one face that reminded him he was something. Not nothing. That he existed for a purpose. That he had a job to do, and that his life was more than just existing day to day.

It had been on hold since that day. That day he can't think about without his heart squeezing tightly in his chest. That day that he lost everything. Because everything, to him, was that one person, that one thing, that one entity, that one glimmering flash of hope that he wouldn't end up alone some day.

And he let him walk out that door. He stood there, terrified to stop it, to speak out, to get in the way of the grand master plan because he selfishly wanted him by his side through all of it, and he didn't have the balls to tell their Dad, his Sergeant Major, that he wanted to go with him.

Dean had felt as though he were watching from miles away, unable to prevent the raised voices, the angry snarls, the words that felt wrong—so unbelievably wrong coming out of their mouths. He was powerless, trapped. He couldn't say what he wanted, so he tried to placate. When that didn't work, he felt worse still. He wasn't processing, mouth on autopilot while he worked on putting up his walls, keeping his emotions in check, not showing how he really, truly felt.

Regret hit him like a ton of rocks. Watching him walk away, his little brother, his tether to the world, the one person that made him happy to wake up every morning—felt as though his soul was leaving his body along with him, getting on a bus to Palo Alto with no intention of ever returning.

For days, weeks, months, years, Dean mourned, as if Sam were gone. Buried. Six feet under. Lost to the ether. He needed to bury him under piles of rubble or he couldn't go on, couldn't hunt, couldn't breathe, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't function.

Every step without him felt like he weighed tons. Every moment without him felt like being hit by a truck, over and over again, with no end to the torture in sight.

He tried to mend the fragments of his broken soul, find happiness in warm bodies. It never happened. Only one person left satisfied during those moments, and it wasn't him. It would never be Dean. They weren't the one thing, the one _good_ thing in his life that made him feel _anything._

Not that Dean ever got to feel that. All he had was his fantasies, which were partly to blame for his decision to not say anything to Sam, to not call him back, to not call him up… Because he was scared that he would ask him to come back or tell him how he felt.

Tell him… Tell him that he wanted him in a way that wasn't right, that would never be right, and shouldn't _feel_ right, but did. Whenever he thought about it, it was good. It was _always_ good, and though it came with a well of guilt, of self-loathing, of disgust for his subconscious deviations, it wasn't something he was willing to let go of.

Even if the very thought of Sam with him in such an intimate, carnal way, was bitter sweet, dug the hole deeper, expanded the void and left him feeling more broken than when he started.

The engine cut, fingers drummed the wheel.

It was kind of gross, for Dean, that sitting there in his car, in the only home they've ever known together, parked outside the dorm he knew to be Sam's—that he felt lighter than he had since that day just _knowing_ that Sam was closer.

Inside that dorm… his heart was asleep.

Dean smacked his head on the top of the wheel. He was acting like such a girl, hemming and hawing over a decision he had already come to terms with.

But what if he said no? What then? What if Sam told him to get lost or get dead? What if he never wanted to see him again and he was just wasting his time?

Dean swallowed, knocked his head against his fist. He wasn't sure what he would do if Sam didn't want to see him, if he hated him…

Heart clenching in his chest, Dean nodded his head, again and again, eyes closed, fingers curled tight around the steering wheel, hoping the continued action would convince him to get out of the car.

Dad was on a hunting trip, and he hadn't been home in a few days. That wouldn't mean anything to someone outside of the loop, but Sam should understand the importance.

That was what Dean was counting on, a foul taste in his mouth from his own admittance that he was using Dad's disappearing act as an excuse to haul ass to Sam on the chance that he would… come along. Like old times, just the two of them, out on the open road.

A memory of Sam resting in the backseat, Dean's jacket thrown over him, provoked a smile. Sam had been researching for hours. He was so tired. Dean joked and called him a whiny baby when he asked if they could stop for the night. They had orders to get to the next town by dawn the next day, so there wasn't a chance they would make it had they overnighted in a motel. Instead, Dean teased Sam until he huffed and shifted to the back seat, and when he was asleep, Dean stopped the car, threw his jacket over him and made a makeshift pillow out of his duffel bag.

He stayed there, watching him sleep for a moment, soaking in the relaxed set to his ethereal features, wishing, not for the first time, that he wasn't so damn beautiful.

Like a slap to the face, the opposite happened. In the year, he grew and grew, his features filled out, molded into a shape that took Dean's breath away.

No busty-asian-beauty could ever compare. No skirt could turn his crank the way Sam's thin waist and ass for days did. No matter how much he drank or told himself it was wrong— _so wrong_ —it never made a difference.

"C'mon, man, you can do this," Dean said to himself, quietly.

He opened the door, letting it swing wide for a moment. The crisp air hit him, and he wasn't sure if it was nerves or the whispers on the wind that had the hair on his exposed flesh rising to attention.

There was a pull. A persistent, enticing pull. It called to him, told him to keep going, to fight for what he wanted, what he needed. It told him that it was there waiting for him in that dorm, sleeping, unaware of his arrival.

Dean ignored it, denial heavy in his movements as he peeled himself out of his car, turning to lean over the top of her. Her cold, black exterior soaked into his forehead, and he felt comforted by her presence.

"Well, wish me luck, Baby," he said, tapping her once.

Dean closed the door, wincing at the creak for the first time in his life. He turned, took in his surroundings, satisfied that no one had heard him.

It was quiet. So quiet, except for the beating of his heart in his ears and the high-pitched thrumming from the tension headache sprouting on his temples.

His excitement to see Sam again had him taking the next step. His fear that Sam would be furious to see _him_ had him stopping to peer up at the sky and beg for the strength to carry on.

Could he really do it? Sam got out. He found a way. He stood up for himself, did the unthinkable, for Dean. Could he really risk screwing that up? Dragging him back into the life that he never wanted, never asked for, didn't dream for himself?

Dean shook his head, bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn't want to. He didn't. But he had to. He had to. _Had_ to be selfish, to stomp down the instinct to put Sam first.

After all of that time spent missing him, longing for him, hating every second, minute, hour of his life, he needed to do it.

It was self-preservation, because, without him, Dean was never really alive.

Life didn't feel like _life_ without him. Without Sam. Without the other half of his soul riding shotgun, complaining about his taste in music, giving him the business when he ragged on him for being such a nerd.

He was so smart, his brother. His genius little brother.

The brains of the opperration. Not a foot-soldier, like him.

Dean always admired him for the way he just… He didn't let their lot in life dictate his decisions. Dean wanted to, but he was worried that if he spoke out, if he ever said no, then he would be disowned.

And then when Dad said to Sam that if he walked out of that door, not to come back, Dean's fear was confirmed.

So he stayed quiet. He did his job. He did what he was told. Went where he was supposed to. Hunted what needed to be hunted. Saved who needed to be saved, in the hope that if he followed their Dad's orders, one day they would get revenge for their Mom.

He trusted their Dad as a leader, to get them there.

Dean was a coward. Maybe if he was as strong as Sam was, he could have told their Dad that he wasn't just a blunt little instrument there to take the hits, to be the sacrificial lamb. He could have told him that he was a person, that he deserved to be treated like a son, and not a tool.

He fantasised about that moment. About telling their Dad that he would be there for him if he needed back up, but he was done. He would have told him that he was going to find Sam, and, if by chance Sam didn't hate his damn guts, he was gonna do his best to mend what was broken between them.

Dad may have been the one to tell Sam he was dead to him, to never come back, but it was Dean that let it happen. Just watched, dying inside. Slowly and painfully, wishing he was strong enough to tell their Dad to cut the fucking crap and show Sam the respect he deserved.

So many nights Dean spent holding his other, other phone in his hand, wanting to dial a number he knew off the top of his head, desperate for them to be on the other side. He never checked if the line could even be reached. He wasn't brave enough to make the call, too afraid of the response.

Would Sam have hung up on him? Would he have even been there? Would it have been some rando from who knew where picking up because Sam burned the phone? Dean will never know because he didn't try.

But dammit… It was time to try. It was time to be _brave,_ to be more than just a… It was time to be more like Sam, to take his example and _fight_ for what he wanted.

Dean was done being alone.

He didn't…

He didn't want to be alone anymore.

He didn't…

He didn't want to die alone.

He didn't…

He didn't want to die never being honest with himself, with Sam, with their Dad.

If he died tomorrow because Sam told him to beat it, at least he would have seen him one last time. At least he would have seen the man he'd become. At least he would have heard his voice, looked into his eyes, caught a whiff of him.

At least he would have _tried._

Hours passed.

Dean stared at Sam's dorm like it was cold metal pressed to his head, housing a bullet in the chamber. He was hesitating. Always hesitating. He yearned to climb up, get closer, but his arms felt like chains were binding them to the floor.

"He's here. You can do this," Dean told himself, staring up at the window. "It's now or never, man. You either get your ass up there, or you get back in your car and go back the way you can."

Every fiber of his being disagreed with that last part, his legs moving, taking him further, hands and feet finding footholds until he was outside Sam's window.

The first thing he noticed was that there were no salt lines, which had him smiling and shaking his head.

"Oh, Sammy. You and I have got some things to talk about, buddy," Dean whispered, sniggering under his breath.

The moment of truth was here. All he had to do was unlatch the window, lift it up and he would be inside. He would be closer to Sam than he had been for the past few years. He would be closer to the being that held his life in their hands, ever since that day he saw him swaddled in a blanket, held in their Mom's arms.

Dean was done for the second those chubby little hands grabbed hold of his finger and smiled at him.

He dragged in one more breath, got his knife out of its holder, slid it underneath the bottom of the window and unsealed the latch.

"Show time," he said to no one, lifting the window enough to duck under and plant his feet firmly on the ground.

He left it open on purpose. He made noise with intent, walking around the room blindly, prolonging the creaking of the floor, opened cupboards and whatnots as he went.

Then, he felt it. A presence. Coming up behind him. He had no time to relish the enormity of that moment, of finally being within touching distance of the one person that gave him life just as easily as he took it away.

He noted, with relief that it hadn't gotten him killed or that he hadn't had to keep himself up to scratch, that Sam had gotten sloppy in his attacks.

Dean countered him easily, turned the tables on him, shoved him back, tapped into his instincts. He blocked, hit back, staggered Sam, waited for that opening and then floored him.

The light from the moon shone through the window, casting over Sam's face. Dean couldn't believe how beautiful he was, how tall, how picturesque the vision of him was in his nightwear.

He didn't know what to say, or what to do. So, in that moment, he fully embraced the mask that he wore daily, and allowed it to steer the show.

So he opened his mouth.

And he said.

"Woah, easy, Tiger."

The recognition flitted through Sam's eyes, and Dean was so glad not to see hate reflected back at him, to not witness all of his fears all wrapped up into one look.

It was more than he felt he deserved.

"Dean?"

Hearing his name once again from Sam felt like his soul finally came home, because Sam had always been his home. Sam was the one constant in his life, the one thing that made sense, the one thing that felt right, the one thing that could talk him out of anything.

It was always Sam.

The two of them.

Together.

His ride or die.

His… everything.

It was good to finally be home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this work, please let me know in the comments what you liked about it. I really appreciate and read every single one of them. Also, I would love to read your thoughts on the finale. I thought it was absolutely breathtaking and everything I didn't know that I needed (that scene in the barn will literally haunt me for the rest of my life), but yeah, let me know your thoughts. :D


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